It's What I Need
by Silmelinwen
Summary: If the boys had never been rescued.  Jack and Ralph are growing up, and are facing new adolescent issues.  Piggy and Simon are not dead in this story, although they did die in the book.


Lord of the Flies… my way

Ralph woke up, a cold sweat soaking his brown locks. He turned over, feeling sick and achy. How long had it been since they first arrived on the island? Hours, days, months… years? Two and a half years. Pushing his lean body forward he retched and vomited on the sandy grounds. He could not sleep in the small huts the boys had designed; he might make them sick as well. When a boy was sick on the island they had to be isolated, usually the boy would die. Ralph refused to let death take over his frozen fevered frame. The boys needed him. Jack was leader for now, but Ralph had no intentions to keep Jack as leader. The night was rough on him; the wind kept chilling him and blew sand towards him so fast it felt like tiny needles being jabbed into him. The "Sick Station" was crudely made, a simple pile of rocks made into a circle, no roof covering. There was a deep hole in the sand that could be used as a toilet or vomit basin. The boys had not wasted supplies on anything more for the Sick Station once Jack had said,

"What would be the point? Those who are sick will probably die. It's wasteful." The boys agreed and left the area alone. Ralph now shivered, wishing he had not agreed to Jack's once thought practical idea. The morning crept slowly upon him. He welcomed the sun's rays, and sat up for the first time in several days. Blinking, he saw the slender, blonde Jack, and the small dark haired Simon walking towards him. Jack looked at Ralph and whispered something to Simon. Turning to Ralph he solemnly inquired,

"Do you know if you're going to die?"

Ralph searched his throbbing head for an answer.

"I don't think so." His throat felt dry and parched as he spoke these words. Jack laid down a piece of over ripe mango, and a small cup of water, and pushed them in the direction of Ralph. Ralph took them and greedily ate them.

Simon gave a timid smile and said,

"I think you'll live, you're eating."

Jack walked off, pulling Simon away as well. Ralph smiled to himself and dizzily stood up. He knew he would need to spend at least another day isolated, but now he knew he was going to live.

With a seeming ever-lasting amount of time to himself, he often tried not to forget what real civilization was like. They had arrived on the island when he was eleven. He couldn't tell for sure when he had turned thirteen, but he knew he had at one point or other on that island.

He remembered his old school. Red brick, boring, and difficult. He remembered his best friends. He remembered the girls whom he used to play tricks on, especially Lannie. He would often tack her long chocolate colored braid to his desk, so when she stood up her head would be jerked back. He wondered what she looked like now. She wasn't a particularly pretty girl, but she wasn't ugly either. She would be classified as ordinary, with a pug nose, freckles splattered generously over her cheeks, and lips that looked like they were in a perpetual pucker. Even though she wasn't as pretty as Vanessa Eldridge, who was the pinnacle of beauty… there was something that he remembered about Lannie that made his insides jump, as did the object in his nether region. But there were no girls on the island, and at thirteen he was starting to get the yearnings of an adolescent boy.

He now imagined Lannie to be curvy, and stunning, and as he fantasized he fell asleep, and didn't wake until he felt a kick to his shoulder. Jack looked down on him once more. Ralph quickly turned to his stomach to hide what appeared to be his nocturnal emission.

"You don't have a fever anymore. I checked." Said Jack looking uneasily at Ralph. Ralph nodded, feeling embarrassed, Jack must have been there a while before he woke up Then, forcing his member to go down, he stood up and followed Jack back to the living area of the boys. He looked around wildly for the conch shell, spotting its creamy pink surface lying on a rock, he blew into it. Still feeling weak from being sick the sound was not as powerful as he would have liked it to have been, but was efficient none-the-less.

The boys gathered around Ralph with a mixture of relief, and elation that their leader had not died. Jack was not looking pleased, but he didn't seem spiteful either. He merely seemed to be in a small state of grief that would soon pass.

"Boys, I am glad to say I'm not dead," Ralph's voice was still hoarse, but commanding nonetheless, "I commend Jack for being such a good leader while I was gone…" He trailed off as he saw one of the younger boys fall down faint, just as he himself had before becoming ill. Quickly he instructed Piggy to take the boy to the Sick Station. Looking disgruntled Piggy argued,

"But I can't carry him due to my asthma."

"I don't give." Said Ralph. So Piggy hauled the tiny boy onto his shoulders, and breathing heavily he set off on the long walk. Later that evening Ralph went to go see the boy. He was so fragile looking. He belonged to Jack's choir. The boy was lying down curled up on his side. Trembling, he looked up as he saw Ralph's shadow approaching him.

"Hey. How're you? You're going to be fine. What's your name?"

Through fevered lips the boy whispered,

"Angel."

"Okay Angel, I'm going back to the rest of the boys but tomorrow I'll bring you water." Angel's eyes frantically darted about the oncoming darkness,

"Don't go." He whispered as loudly as his scratchy throat would permit. Ralph agreed, and fell asleep listening to the high-pitched snores of the little boy. A silence woke Ralph up in the middle of night. He listened for the snores that had lulled him to sleep, earlier, but could hear them no more. Looking over at the boy, he sighed a piteous sigh. Lifting Angel's wrist, he felt for a pulse, and when none came… he picked him up, and threw the docile body into the water. He watched Angel's lifeless form float away, then slowly sink as death worked its density.

He trudged back to the huts. How many times had this situation befallen him? Exactly how many corpses had he thrown into the water these past two years? He had faced things many grown men had never and would never face. Fourteen. Exactly fourteen of their number had died. He guessed it wasn't a bad number considering their circumstances. There were still thirty or so boys on the island.

He sat on the floor of the hut. He wondered why they had never bothered to make beds or chairs… or anything in attempt to imitate society. The only thing they had done was keep a fire going, and create ten huts. The largest of which, the two leaders shared.

Ralph looked over at Jack who was breathing in his rhythmical and orderly fashion. Jack seemed so sure of everything he said and did; even the way he breathed seemed to ooze confidence. Although Ralph was the main leader and commanded fairly unlike Jack who could be somewhat biased and iniquitous, he often felt clueless as to how to lead, and more importantly how to live. Ralph leaned his head against the wall of the hut, and somehow found a way to sleep once more.

Jack awoke the next morning, and with his hunting stick he went and prodded his choirboys awake, and instructed them to gather more "green stuff" for the fire, as to keep the smoke going high. Jack watched the boys hurrying to and fro to the fire as he sang his usual morning scales. He had perfect pitch, and was always certain where his C was. His voice had broken in the past year, and he now had a beautiful, and melodious tenor voice. He could still reach his C sharp in his breath taking falsetto, but his chest voice was resonating and angelically stunning.

He stood in front of the doorway of his hut singing, and every once in a while barking out an order. Ralph was roused out of his sleep by the distant yelling of the boys, he saw Jack standing in the doorway, and heard him singing a small song he had made up. For all his rough and tough, Ralph thought Jack looked particularly fragile as he stood, back arched, and head skyward.

Jack's hair was being whipped about his face by the breeze. Of all the boys Jack's hair had been fastest to grow past the shoulders. It gave him a wild savage look, but on that morning it was becoming to him.

Ralph stood up and walked towards Jack,

"The little boy died last night." Jack shrugged his shoulders. Death no longer seemed to be something he should concern himself about. Ralph picked up the conch shell and blew into it. The boys all ran towards him, arms filled with fruit and coconuts that were ready to be drunk. They put their morning labors down on the ground, so Ralph and Jack could begin distributing. All the little boys prayed Ralph would be the one to serve them; the older boys didn't care either way. Jack was a firm believer in the theory that the younger one was the less food you needed, Ralph gave everyone their food evenly.

At one point the boys had manners when they ate, now everyone's hands were stained purples, and blues from the sticky sweet juices of the berries. They chewed as rapidly as they could, their stomachs all burned with hunger. Ralph patted the smaller boys on the back telling him to slow down lest they receive a stomachache, oblivious to the fact that he himself was scarfing his fruit down to satisfy his own hunger pains.

The morning meals were often used as good speaking opportunities for the boys who needed to voice their thoughts. One large twelve year old raised his hand, and Ralph passed him the conch.

"You know back when we were at school it used to not just be boys." The younger boys squinted their eyes as they tried to imagine what this older boy was saying, "I mean there used to be girls, and they were an awful bother. I'm glad we're here without girls to be all dainty and the like." Ralph on the other hand felt his insides churn at the word "girl". He was so hormonally deprived the mere thought of beribboned hair, and lacy socks sent his mind into overdrive. Then Jack took the conch from the twelve year old,

"Well I'm much more mature than you, ninny. When I was in the choir, we'd go see the girl's choir perform and one of the girls and me, we went steady. We even kissed." The little boys made faces at this repulsing act. Some of the older ones who were suddenly going head first into puberty looked envious. Ralph meanwhile was wishing he had a story to tell.

Jack then dismissed himself to use their makeshift bathroom. It was a bush in which they had cleared out the center and made a doorway, then a hole in the ground so the boy could go in privacy.

Ralph continued the discussion as some of the boys continued giving their input. Most of them were still thoroughly disgusted about boy and girl relations, still being quite young. Ralph sighed, and wished he could still feel grossed out by the thoughts of kissing a girl. Eventually Ralph had to draw the discussion to a close and send the boys off to do their duties.

"Fire tenders, go to the mountain top. Gatherers, go. Builders, move. Hunters, you may go." He dismissed. But one of the hunters sidled up to him,

"Jack's still not back from the bathroom, we can't go without him." Ralph looked about as though Jack were going to magically appear. He told the hunters to stay put while he went to check the situation out.

"Jack?" He half questioned and half called as he stood in front of the "bathroom". He received no answer. Slowly he pulled aside the brambles of the bushes. It reeked of fresh vomit, and lying next to it was the long frame of Jack. Ralph shuddered as he hoisted Jack over his shoulder, and carried him off to the Sick Station. Then running back to the hunters he told them to carry on, on their own that day, and Jack had been stricken by sickness. The hunters looked confused. Jack had been perfectly fine that morning, and he had never been sick before. But they had to do their job nonetheless.

Ralph ran back over to where Jack was still out cold, with a whole coconut. If there was one person aside from himself that couldn't die, it was Jack. He cracked the coconut slightly open, and laid it by Jack's head. Although Jack would have been pleased if Ralph had died, for some reason Ralph knew that the boys could not manage without the ominous presence of Jack. Ralph brushed the perspiration soaked hair off Jack's neck, and put a hand on his forehead. It was a definite fever. He set off in search of the chamomile he once found growing on the island. He had not picked it then saving it for an emergency, but he guessed now was the time.

At one point he wondered why he was working so hard on saving Jack's life. Jack was a cruel boy. He killed two of the fourteen dead boys. He whipped, and hurt those who disobeyed him. His words were a negative source of motivation. There was nothing Jack wouldn't do to gain power and respect. But Ralph was not a killer, and could not watch Jack die… as he had so powerlessly let Angel die, the night before.

Crushing the chamomile leaves in his hand he pressed his fingers to each side of Jack's hardened jaw, forcing him to open. He let the soothing leaves fall into Jack's mouth, and shut his jaw. Looking down, Ralph admired Jack's perfect features. His eyes and mouth were relaxed from their usual stubborn unrelenting expression, giving him an ethereal fairy like beauty. Ralph stood up and walked away.

Simon looked up expectantly at Ralph when he returned to the campsite. Ralph sat down and patted the ground next to him motioning for Simon to sit. Simon looked stunned, he had never been asked to sit by one of the leaders before.

"Is Jack going to die?" He asked slowly.

"No." Said Ralph with an extreme force.

"I'm an awful person." Murmured Simon, his face towards the floor as his tears splattered upon the sandy ground, "I wished he would." Simon now bawled, "It's just we never know what he's going to do, he's so mean. He never takes us seriously. He wants to kill you, Ralph. Like he tried to when we first got here. He don't say it no more. But I know he does. He wants to get rid of you." Simon was sniffling in phlegm filled green mess back into his nostrils. "I know you don't believe me because I'm crazy."

Ralph patted Simon's back.

"Jack's not going to kill me. I promise you." He pulled the younger boy to his chest as he hugged him, "Now go get to sleep. You're going to go hunting tomorrow." Simon couldn't find the strength in him to stand up, so he crawled back to his hut. Back when he was in the choir, he had been an alto, every night before bed he would practice his harmonies. He remembered a song they had once sung about how the strong would dominate and the weak would fall. He didn't think about the song then, but now when he sang it, he knew exactly what it meant. He was weak, if he didn't want to be hurt, he had to get strong, somehow.

Ralph slept well that night. A dream of the brunette Lannie, running through his mind. How he wished there were girls with them when they had been marooned on the island. In his dream he ran a finger through her soft hair, and traced her lips with his thumbs. They were sitting next to each other, quite alone in the schoolroom, and as they leaned in towards each other, the sun hit his face through the doorway of the hut. He felt his lower region going limp with disappointment. He felt so lost, how could he contain his hormones, with not even a girl to merely look at?

He went to go check on Jack, as he arrived he saw Jack sitting up. A wave of relief spread over Ralph's body. Brushing Jack's fair hair off his face he checked for fever. It was mild, he still felt warm, and his cheeks were still a rosy pink, but the worst of the sickness was over. Before Ralph could pull away, Jack reached out and hugged him. Ralph bent down, confused.

"Thanks." Said Jack. Ralph couldn't control himself, grabbing Jack by the shoulders; he pulled him down to the ground, and kissed him. The soft hair, the pink skin, it was too much for Ralph. Jack was too beautiful. Jack pushed Ralph off. The boys locked eyes, capturing each other in cold glares, and in one moment, Jack used all the strength in his fevered body to pin Ralph to the floor, and kiss him.

"I cannot be controlled." Muttered Jack into Ralph's ear. The boys finally calmed down enough to lie in each other's arms.

"I'm sorry." Whispered Ralph.

"Holy shit… I can't believe we kissed." Jack turned around to face Ralph, they were still locked in an embrace, "I like girls."

"Me too." Said Ralph.

"I wish there were girls here." Sighed Jack, pulling Ralph in tighter.

"Me too."

The next day Jack was well enough to return. The cold glint in his eyes was back. He went out hunting once more. The pack of hunting boys now felt more at ease. Jack led the way with his theatrical trepidation.

"Shh." He pointed to a sleeping sow with the fervor of excitement illuminating his features. The boys crept in, anxious for a good kill. They had not eaten properly in over several months, and looked positively skeletal. Their mouths were watered with saliva, and their bellies twisted in starvation. They quietly encircled the sow; Jack was looking crazed with his find. One of the smaller hunters, Peter, gave an earth-shattering cough, which awoke the sow, and sent her running. Jack shot a look of hatred towards the young boy as he shouted,

"Chase her!" The boys tried chasing the pig, but she hid herself too well. Jack's stomach emitted a loud growl. Seeing Peter standing there, he threw his spear at the boy, his body shaking with anger, and weakness. Peter gave a high-pitched ululating scream of pain, as he fell to the floor. Jack looked down on him, losing all sense and temper he cried in frustration,

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! How could you? We were so close." Tears were blinding Jack's eyes. Ralph and the other boys heard the loud projecting scream of Jack, and they came running. Jack let sobs wrack his body,

"I hate you!" The little boy was still screaming, more out of terror than anything. "Shut up already!" Jack was raging; he took his spear once more and thrust it into the boy's chest cavity. Peter let his eyes open wide as he began to writhe on the floor. Blood seeping out and covering him. Ralph stood paralyzed as he watched Jack crying and holding the spear down on Peter.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Ralph ran over and knocked Jack away from the spear. Peter had stopped screaming, he was devoting all his energy to short quick breaths, each time he breathed, more blood would spill from his body. Jack grappled with Ralph on the floor, trying to get back to his spear.

"You murderer!" Ralph was now crying as well. Murders never ceased to affect him. He ran over to where Peter was slowly losing breath.

"Shh, it's okay." He pulled the spear out of the young boy, and watched, horrified as the dark brown blood came gushing out. He grimaced, then took the boy in his arms, and cradled him. Glaring at Jack, he whispered,

"Get the fuck away." Ralph let the taste of the obscene word linger in his mouth. For it was only Jack whom he had ever heard use the word. The other boys looked frightened of Ralph for a moment. "All of you just go!" He roared. Peter looked up at Ralph, fear creased his infantile features.

"I don't wanna die." He whispered, pressing his hand to his chest. Ralph saw no point in telling the truth, so calmly he looked the dying boy in the eye and said,

"Don't worry, you'll live."

The boy tensed with pain, then smiled at Ralph, and took his last breath… all while believing he was going to live. When Ralph pushed Peter's body out to the sea, he couldn't watch this time. Peter's death wasn't necessary. It didn't have to happen. He was angry at the world. Running back to the camp, he tackled Jack to the floor. He threw punches to his jaw, stomach, and face. Jack retaliated with a firm hand.

The two boys looked at each other with such a loathing gaze, the other boys backed away. Ralph turned around,

"Wimps! I hate you all! You just let people die because you're scared to die yourselves! Peter didn't have to die!" He threw one last punch at Jack, which sent him to the floor, and then stalked back to the hut. How many tears had he cried in the past week? They seemed to never stop. He wanted to be rescued. He wanted to play chase, and war games, where death was a fun thing to pretend. He didn't like the real world… because there, death was real as well.

Ralph lay on the floor, facing the wall, when he heard the light footsteps of Jack entering the hut. Jack also lay on the floor. The boys tried to sleep without thoughts of gravely injuring the other. Ralph dozed off into an uneasy slumber, until he woke. It was still nighttime, but there was a hot air breezing by his shoulder. He turned around and saw that Jack was pressed against him, breathing on him. Jack smiled his maniacal smile, and turned Ralph around as he began to kiss once more. Ralph still felt enraged at Jack, but could not control his body's natural response. He fell into the rough kisses, and savored them with all his might. He pressed himself closer to Jack. Picturing instead, the freckled face of Lannie. But as he tried to imagine, Jack's boyish masculinity kept interrupting Ralph's thoughts, forcing him to see himself kissing another boy. As much as this thought repulsed him, he could not help but let his desire starved body answer to Jack's kiss. He felt Jack's mouth gently resting on his neck as they fell asleep.

The next morning, Ralph awoke, and thought immediately of Peter. He then looked down upon Jack who was still lying with him. He threw Jack to the side and shouted,

"How could I let you? You cold-blooded beast!" Then dropping his voice to a whisper, lest the other boys heard, he seethed, "You murder Peter, then come by my side at night, knowing I'm longing for someone. You took advantage of my neediness." Jack smirked,

"Well you didn't exactly say no."


End file.
